


We’re Not Who We Used to Be

by kiwikero



Series: Ghosts in the Attic [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Christmas Decorations, Ghost Harry, Ghost Louis, Happy Ending, M/M, more different ghost sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-26 15:59:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12560996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwikero/pseuds/kiwikero
Summary: When Harry Styles passes away without warning, it’s up to Niall to decide the fate of his best friend’s estate, including a one hundred year old mansion.The problem is, that mansion contains a hundred year old ghost, and now potentially Harry’s ghost as well.Alternatively; the happiest you’ll ever be about main character death.





	We’re Not Who We Used to Be

**Author's Note:**

> They Never Quite Leave was never meant to have a sequel, but people kept asking to see Harry and Louis as ghosts together and I couldn’t stop imagining it. Then I kept having exchanges and other projects to work on, but it’s Halloween and what better time for a ghost fic? I hope you enjoy it just as much as the original. 
> 
> Thank you to KK for britpicking (the morning after her Harry concert, even!) and to Sarah for cheerleading. Also thanks to Lorna for her enthusiasm, because the first ghost fic is the reason we became friends. 
> 
> Title is taken from “Two Ghosts” by Harry Styles, because how could I not?

Niall dropped his keys onto the table by the door, stepping into his waiting house. It was warm, the heating turned up to combat the dreary February weather, but Niall still felt chilled to his bones. Behind him, his wife Alaina ushered their daughter inside and shut the door. He felt Alaina’s hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort, but it didn’t help. He pulled away, going straight to the hall closet and pulling down a duffel bag that hadn’t been touched in many years.

“What are you doing, babe?” Alaina asked, worry in her voice as she followed. He turned to face her, though the pity on her face made him wish he hadn’t.

“I have to go to him,” Niall said simply, glancing in the bag to make sure everything was there before zipping it back up. He set it by the front door and started upstairs to pack when Alaina grabbed his arm.

“He’s gone, Ni. I’m so sorry, but he’s gone,” she insisted, her blue eyes sad and brimming with tears. “He didn’t have a reason to stick around, babe.”

Niall shook his head, brushing her arm off as he continued up the stairs. He paused at the top, turning to look back down at Alaina. “He had one,” he said quietly, before disappearing into their room to pack.

\-----

The world was bright. That was the first thing Harry noticed. He couldn’t open his eyes, not yet, but he could sense the light filtering through his eyelids. He squinted against it, trying to lessen the intensity of the glow, but it didn’t help. He had to see what it was, whether it was the same thing making his entire body feel tingly and his mind foggy. It took every ounce of his energy, but finally, finally, Harry opened his eyes.

Instantly the overwhelming brightness was gone, replaced instead by an overcast sky and the bare limbs of trees stretching into the air. He was lying in his garden, in the snow, but he couldn’t feel the cold. He couldn’t feel much at all. Had he hit his head?

“Harry?”                                                                       

A small voice to his right caught Harry’s attention, and Harry turned his head toward the sound. Louis was sitting on the ground nearby, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in disbelief. Harry frowned, unable to make sense of Louis’ expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Louis was at his side in an instant. “Harry, oh my god, I never thought I’d see you again.” He sounded so panicked, so afraid, and Harry must have hit his head, because nothing made any sense at all.

“I’m right here,” Harry assured him, pulling himself up to a seated position and holding his hands out in front of him. “Look, I’m fi—” Harry stopped mid sentence, gaping down at the space in front of his body. Where his hands should be there was only clear air, and even though Harry could feel his legs folded beneath him he could see nothing but the grey, dingy snow covering the ground. “Louis? I can’t– I can’t see my body.”

Louis’ face fell, his eyes full of sadness as he looked at Harry. “What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked softly.

The way that Louis was looking at him sent a cold wave of dread through Harry. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to remember the circumstances that led to him winding up on the snowy ground. “I was taking down the Christmas decorations,” Harry said, remembering the ladder leaning against the side of the house, him trying to remove the string of lights from the roof. “I lost my balance and fell.” He opened his eyes, frowning at Louis. “I must have hit my head.”

“What day is it?” Louis asked, trying to sound calm but Harry could detect the slight waver in his voice.

“It’s January 25 th ,” Harry said. “My sister just came to visit and told me that a month after Christmas meant the lights had to come down. She left yesterday.”

Louis shook his head sadly. “That was two weeks ago, Harry. It’s February now.”

“That can’t be right,” Harry insisted, fear gripping his throat like a vice. “I’ve missed my birthday? Surely I haven’t been lying out in the snow for two weeks, right? Right?” he demanded, panic rising when Louis didn’t respond right away.

Harry knew Louis didn’t need to breathe, but he could still see the ghost’s chest deflate out of habit as he let out a sigh. “You never made it to your birthday. Harry, the ladder fell, and you– you  _ died, _ babe.”

That couldn’t be right. Surely Louis was having him on, pranking him somehow. Louis always had loved pranks. “No. That’s impossible,” he whispered. “I’m only 38. I can’t be…” He couldn’t make himself say the word.

“And I was only 23,” Louis said softly. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back. I watched them take your body away, and I’ve been sitting here ever since just in case you showed back up.”

“My body?” Harry asked, swallowing hard. He looked down at the empty space he knew he was occupying. “I can’t see it, Louis. I can’t see my body.”

“You have to picture it,” Louis explained. “Remember what you looked like, concentrate as hard as you can. The universe can’t forget you if you refuse to forget yourself.”

Harry looked at Louis doubtfully, but closed his eyes. He pictured himself in his mind, pictured his skin and the brown of his hair. He thought of the first photo shoot he’d done for  _ InSpectre Styles, _ of the clothes he’d been wearing and the way his eyes wrinkled at the edges when he smiled wide enough. That had been a decade ago, but he never forgot those photos or the excitement of having his own television show. It had been the beginning of everything, the reason he met Louis in the first place.

“It’s working!” Louis exclaimed, and Harry’s eyes flew open. He looked down, at his spread hands and the black jeans hugging his legs. They were transparent, but they were  _ there, _ and Harry thought he might cry from relief.

“Oh my god, I really am a ghost,” he said, turning his hands in disbelief. He could see right through them to the dirty snow around him. He looked up at Louis, trying to process what had happened: that his spirit had left his body and his body was gone forever. “I’m actually dead.”

“Hey, it’s not so bad,” Louis said, scooting closer and rubbing his hand down Harry’s back. “I’m here, I promise. You won’t ever be alone like I was.”

That was the silver lining, Harry supposed—he and Louis would truly be together for eternity now, trapped within the walls of the house they both inhabited a century apart. He was sad for his family, and for his friends, but he couldn’t be too sad with Louis next to him, gently rubbing his back, his touch solid and grounding and—

_ Solid. _

“Louis,” Harry said slowly, wide-eyed as he turned to face the ghost. “Louis, I can feel you.”

Louis stilled his hand, gaping at the spot where he and Harry touched. “Yeah, I– I can feel you too,” he replied in awe. They locked eyes, staring at each other in wonder, and then they were throwing themselves into each other’s arms, embracing tightly as they’d never been able to before.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Harry repeated quietly, holding Louis close and savouring the feeling of finally,  _ finally  _ being able to touch him. “I can’t believe I get to hug you.”

“For the rest of time, love,” Louis promised, voice thick as he gripped Harry tightly. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, but I can’t be sorry about this.”

Harry pulled back to look Louis in the face, smiling at him. His eyes couldn’t produce tears, he knew that, but Harry felt happy enough that he thought he might cry anyway. “It’s okay,” he said shakily. “I mean, it’s not, but I get to spend eternity with you. It’s just a bit sooner than I planned.” He laughed wetly, reaching a hand up to touch his own face. It felt like he remembered skin feeling, just slightly muted somehow. “At least I died when I was still young and beautiful,” he joked, knowing he had far more lines and grey hairs than when he had first stepped foot into the Payne Mansion—the Styles Mansion, now—all those years ago.

“You are, though,” Louis insisted. “Young, I mean. You look exactly like you did the day we met.”

“I was picturing myself back then,” Harry replied excitedly. “How I looked on the show.”

Louis grabbed Harry’s hand, holding it tightly in his own. “It worked, love. It worked.” He leaned forward, experimentally pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Can you feel that?” he asked.

Harry could. There was no warmth behind it, only pressure, but Harry had felt Louis’ lips against his skinnier the very first time. “Why don’t you tell me if you can feel this,” Harry murmured, cupping Louis’ face in his hands and pulling it close. Slowly, carefully, he pressed his lips to Louis’.

“I certainly felt that,” Louis said when they parted, breathless despite not needing to breathe at all. “You know that was my first kiss, don’t you?”

“I do,” Harry replied, Louis’ face still cradled in his hands. “Was it worth waiting a hundred and twelve years for?”

Louis smirked. “I suppose. But don’t you dare think I’m waiting that long for a second one,” he warned.

Harry kissed him again.

\-----

It was strange, entering the house. Louis passed through the front door easily, but opened it when Harry couldn’t quite figure out how to get through. “You’ll get the hang of it,” Louis promised. 

Inside, everything was exactly how Harry had left it that day before bundling up to go out into the cold. There was a teacup waiting by the electric kettle with a tea bag still inside, the kettle full of water and waiting to be switched on. The wreaths and garlands he had removed from the porch were in a pile at the bottom of the stairs, still needing to be boxed up and returned to the attic. He was sure that his bed was still unmade upstairs, and that his DVR was still recording all his favourite shows. It was eerie to see that life just kept going on, time marching merrily forward regardless of his existence.

“Come on,” Louis said gently, leading Harry into the parlour and sitting them both down on the sofa. Harry had updated most of the furniture in the decade he owned the house, and the ugly green furnishings of the parlour had long been replaced with cosy grey ones. “I suppose you have some questions,” Louis said, searching Harry’s face. “I know this is a lot to deal with, but I’ve been through it before if you want to talk.”

It  _ was _ a lot to deal with, and Harry was so, so grateful he didn’t have to face it by himself. “I can’t imagine how you must have felt. You were all alone, Lou.”

Louis shook his head. “It was a long time ago, and we aren’t talking about me,” he said, offering a wan smile. “Come on. Let me help you.”

Harry looked down at his lap. “When I first came to, there was a really bright light and my entire body was tingling. It was gone the second I opened my eyes.” He bit his lip, glancing up at Louis. “Do you know what that was?”

Louis thought about it, tilting his head in contemplation. “You’ve heard people say ‘go towards the light,’ right? Perhaps that was it. Perhaps that was your spirit choosing to stay here instead of moving on.”

That made sense, Harry supposed. He had felt so at peace in those first few moments, like everything was going to be okay, and it had been difficult to force his eyes open. “Well, I suppose I had something worth staying for,” Harry offered, delighting in the pleased expression that overtook Louis’ face. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to come back. Is it always like that?”

“I don’t know,” Louis replied. “I have no idea how long it was between my death and my return as a ghost. It was long enough that my family had started packing, but that could have been the next day or the next month.”

Harry looked around the room, at the photos on the walls and the knickknacks on the mantle, at the rug and the curtains. There was so much in that room, in that house, collected from ten years of living there and a lifetime worth of things he’d brought with him. “I suppose someone is going to come and box all my things up eventually,” he said sadly. “I had fooled myself into thinking that you and I could stay here just like this, and carry on like nothing happened.”

Louis took Harry’s hand, pulling it into his lap and stroking over it. The sensation made Harry shiver, still such a novelty that Louis could touch him without having to possess him first. “We’ll be all right, Harry. No matter what happens to the house, you and I will be here together, and that’s all that matters to me.” His smile was dimmed with a hint of sadness. “In a hundred years, it won’t matter what the décor looks like or who owns it, trust me.”

“You’re right,” Harry replied, smiling back. “You think I’ll have mastered being a ghost by then?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Louis replied with a wink. “We should get started now, just in case.”

\-----

For as easy as Louis made everything look, being a ghost was actually a lot of work. With each new thing Louis tried to teach him, Harry found himself growing more and more disheartened.

“I’m never going to get this!” Harry growled in frustration, kicking at the wall only to have his foot sink into the skirting board. He had been trying to flip a light switch for the past hour, and it was no closer to feeling solid under his hand than it had when he started.

Louis placed a hand at the small of Harry’s back. “Easy, love. You’ll get it. You didn’t learn to walk in a day.”

Harry offered an apologetic smile, embarrassed by his outburst. “I’m sorry. It’s just frustrating struggling to do something I’ve been able to my entire life.”

“Try again,” Louis urged. “Remember how the switch felt beneath your hand. It’s just like remembering your body.”

“I am trying,” Harry insisted huffily. He touched his fingers to the switch again, focusing all his energy on keeping his fingers from passing through it. He imagined the hard plastic of the face plate, the slight resistance of the switch being flipped. The switch wiggled beneath his fingers, and Harry pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. “It moved!”

Louis gave a celebratory yell. “I knew you could do it! Keep trying, you’ve got it now.”

This time, when Harry reached for the switch, he knew what to do. It moved easily, the lights overhead coming on and bathing the formal dining room in light. “I did it!”

“You did it!” Louis agreed, throwing his arms around Harry and lifting him off the ground. “That’s all there is to it. Do you want to try something bigger?”

Harry laughed as Louis spun him, still unable to believe that he was finally able to touch Louis after so long. “Yes! Maybe if I try hard enough I can actually get the Christmas decorations packed away.”                                                                              

“Yeah, but by then it will be time to put them up again.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The afternoon passed quickly as Harry and Louis drifted from one room of the house to the next. Harry had mastered light switches and had moved on to the telly, the microwave, and the tap in the kitchen sink. It got easier each time, Harry quickly learning how to adjust his energy to each item, to remember how the material felt and imagine the desired result.

“Can I try picking something up?” Harry asked excitedly after turning the tap on and off for the tenth time in a row. What had first seemed daunting was now a game as he learned to test his limits, to interact with the world he had left behind.

Louis laughed. “You don’t have to ask my permission. This is your house,” he reminded Harry.

“It’s our house,” Harry corrected him, lacing their fingers together and kissing the back of Louis’ palm. “Besides, I meant do you think I’m ready?”

“It’s a bit trickier,” Louis cautioned. “But you’ve got the basics. Start with something small.”

Harry scanned the kitchen, eyes falling on the teacup waiting on the counter. He reached for it, remembering the cool, smooth surface, how warmth would radiate through the ceramic when it was filled with tea. He ran his fingers over the handle, lingering over the chip on the inside. Once he could feel the weight of it in his mind, Harry tried to lift it from the counter.

His hand went right through it. “Damn,” he murmured, trying again. He could touch it right up until he tried to pick it up. “What am I doing wrong?” he asked plaintively, turning to pout at Louis.

“Let me help you,” Louis offered, reaching for Harry’s hand. A look of focus pinched his features, and then his hand was sliding into Harry’s like he had done when Harry was alive.

Harry gasped at the sensation. It was much more intense now that he was a ghost, like his spirit and Louis’ were actually temporarily combined. He stared at Louis, wide-eyed in wonder, and Louis gaped back at him with the same expression.

“O- okay,” Louis said, shaking his head as if to clear it so he could concentrate on the task at hand. “So, um, it’s like this.” He guided their joined hands to the cup. Harry projected how it felt, and he could tell Louis was doing the same, because the little white cup felt more solid under his fingers than anything he had interacted with all day. Harry watched in awe as they lifted the cup from the counter, tilting it this way and that so Harry could glimpse the dusty tea bag still inside. “Now you try,” Louis said once the cup was returned to the counter. He retracted his hand from Harry’s, and Harry tried not to think about how it felt like a piece of him was now missing.

Focusing all his attention on his hand, on how it had felt to have Louis helping him, Harry wrapped his fingers around the cup and lifted it upward. He could feel the weight of it as he raised it to eye level, giving an excited whoop when he was able to hold it there with only a slight tremor.

Then the front door opened, and Harry let the cup crash to the tile floor below.

\-----

The house was quiet when Niall stepped inside, like an echo of that first visit so many years ago now. He remembered their excitement, the certainty that this would be the episode that secured the future of their show. Instead, it had been the reason they stopped filming altogether. He set down his bags at the foot of the grand chestnut staircase, looking sadly at the half-filled boxes of Christmas decorations standing open on the floor. Harry had been on a ladder when he fell; perhaps he had been retrieving the lights Niall had helped him string up only a couple months before.

“Louis?” Niall called hopefully. “Are you still around?” He couldn’t bear to ask the question he really wanted to, too afraid of the answer he might get. “If you can hear me, please let me know.”

But the house remained silent. Perhaps Harry had moved on after all, and taken Louis along with him.

With a heavy sigh, Niall allowed himself to wander around the empty house. Harry had put so much work into it to make it his own, and his personality shone in each and every room. It was hard to remember that he wasn’t waiting somewhere, just out of sight, ready to greet Niall with a hug and a smile.

It was clear the house had lain dormant for the weeks since Harry passed. There was still a half-finished crossword on the coffee table, a cardigan draped over the back of a chair. The evidence of a life interrupted brought fresh pangs of grief, and Niall couldn’t bear to spend too much time in any one room.

Niall passed through to the kitchen, hoping to distract himself by cleaning out the fridge and the pantry. He paused in the doorway, frowning at the mess on the kitchen floor. Shards of white ceramic stood in contrast to the terra cotta tile, a tea bag lying amidst the mess. “Huh,” he murmured, picking up the tea bag and examining it. Harry must have knocked it off before he died—but why wouldn’t he have cleaned it up? Niall shook his head before standing to search for a dustpan and brush.

After cleaning up the ceramic, Niall moved on to the fridge, and the pantry, and to bagging up all the rubbish to set out on the kerb in the morning. The simplicity of cleaning allowed Niall not to think for a couple of hours, to let him forget why he was performing those very tasks.

By the time the kitchen was clean, Niall found himself exhausted and weary. There was still a lot of work to be done, a lot of rooms to sort through, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do anything more tonight. Maybe he should have listened to Alaina and stayed home, let himself grieve properly before coming to the house. Niall felt he owed it to Harry to at least try to contact him, though, and he knew his friend would do the same if their roles were reversed.

Niall washed his hands and returned to the foyer, collecting his overnight bag before climbing up the stairs. He couldn’t even look at the master, let alone think of sleeping in it, so instead Niall turned toward the room he had slept in while filming the show. The paint colour had changed, now a pale blue instead of the off white it had been back then, and he slept in the same room every time he came to visit, but seeing it now stirred up nostalgia strong enough to move him to tears. He hadn’t cried since he heard the news, not even at the funeral, but the repressed tears flowed steadily from his tired eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to go back downstairs for his duffel, let alone get out any of his equipment tonight. Instead he crawled into bed, curling up under the duvet to cry himself to sleep.

\-----

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw who had come to call. Niall Horan stood in the foyer, looking around the house with wistful blue eyes. There were snowflakes melting in his brown hair, the blond long since grown out and never re-dyed, and a black rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked sadder than Harry had ever seen him, and Harry ached to reassure his old friend.

“Louis? Are you still around?”

Harry and Louis looked at each other with mirrored expressions of uncertainty. “Do you want me to talk to him?” Louis asked. “I can let him know you’re here, that you can still hear him.”

Harry chewed at his bottom lip. “I think he should hear it from me. I really want to be able to talk to him face to face, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, love,” Louis assured him, squeezing Harry’s arm. “Whatever you want.”

Harry grinned at Louis, turning his back on Niall so he wouldn’t have to see the pain on his friend’s face when no one answered his call. “I want to get started right away.”

Niall took up residence in the kitchen, cleaning out the woeful remains of Harry’s leftovers, so the two ghosts journeyed upstairs. They relocated to the upstairs lounge, Harry using his newly acquired skill to turn on the lights and banish the shadows the setting sun had stretched into grotesque proportions across the floor.

They settled on the comfortable old sofa, Harry pulling his legs up to his chest and looking at Louis expectantly. The sensation of sitting was strange, as his body still felt somehow suspended in the air, and Harry knew that it was only his mind keeping him from sinking right through the microfibre cushions.

“All right,” Louis began, facing Harry on the couch. “This is going to be a little hard to explain.” Harry nodded, and Louis continued. “Remember when you first moved in here and asked what you could do to help me appear as much as possible?”

“You said you needed energy,” Harry recalled. “You told me that as long as I kept something nearby you could draw energy from, then I could see you every day.” He smiled fondly at the memory, at how young he’d been, how excited he was at the prospect of seeing Louis more often. It was the reason that there were batteries of some sort on chargers in every room in the house.

“Right. It takes more energy than we have to make ourselves visible,” Louis explained. “Little things like turning on a light or moving something small are possible as long as we take time to rest in between. But becoming visible takes a lot of concentration, and a lot of energy.”

Harry tilted his head. “It was still difficult for you to do? Even with the batteries?” he asked. “Why did you do it every day then? I would have understood.”

“I wanted to be with you,” Louis replied simply. “It was worth it. I couldn’t give you a normal relationship, so I gave as much as I could to make up for it.” He reached across the space between them to squeeze Harry’s hand. “Now I can touch you whenever I want.”

Harry smiled mischievously, still wanting to test the limits of how physical they could get, but at the moment there was still work to be done. “So how do you do it? Siphon energy?”

“At first it might be easier to touch the object,” Louis suggested. He motioned to the battery pack charging on the wall next to the door. Harry went to it, squatting down and placing his hand over the charger. “Now, concentrate as hard as you can on the power stored in the batteries. Imagine drawing it into yourself the same way you imagined touching the light switch.”

“How will I know if it’s working?” Harry asked with a frown. He wasn’t sure how to imagine something when he had no idea what it felt like.

“The light will flicker. Just keep trying.”

Harry huffed but did as he was told, furrowing his brow and desperately trying to absorb power from the batteries. He could remember the hard plastic of the charger, the smooth surface of the batteries, how they grew hot when they had been plugged in for too long. He stared at the small light on the charger, growing more frustrated the longer it stayed a solid green, until eventually he stood and threw his hands in the air. “I don’t understand!”

Louis went to him, grabbing Harry’s hands and pulling them to his chest. “Babe, it’s okay. It’s your first day as a ghost. You don’t have to master everything at once.” Louis offered a lopsided smile. “I was hopeless for months. Took a year for me to communicate with anybody and by then my family was long gone. Scared the poor fellow who bought the place something awful.”

Defeated, Harry allowed himself to be comforted by Louis’ touch. “I just want to be able to talk to Niall, even if it’s the last time. I want him to understand why I chose to leave him the house.”

“You’ll get there, love,” Louis promised, pulling Harry in for a hug. Harry relaxed into it immediately, sure that heaven was right there in Louis’ arms, his eternal reward for so many years spent looking but not touching. “Come on, let’s go see what Niall’s got himself up to.”

Usually Louis would just sink through the floor, or allow himself to vanish and reappear at his destination, but since Harry couldn’t do those things yet they took the stairs. It felt incredibly normal, heading downstairs with Louis like they were going to have a cuppa before bed.

Harry sighed, thinking he could go for a good, strong cup of tea about now. He’d long since given up putting sugar in it after a couple years of Louis berating him for it, and now he would never have it again. “I miss tea already.”

“Yeah, that never goes away,” Louis said sympathetically.

Downstairs they found Niall finishing up in the kitchen. The broken cup had been swept up, the dishes in the sink washed and put away, and the rubbish had been taken out. Harry imagined it couldn’t have been a fun task, bagging up the mouldy bread and squishy fruit that had been sitting for weeks, but Niall had always put on a brave face when something needed to be done. From sleeping in the Tower of London to braving Harry’s spoiling groceries, Niall always came through in the end.   
  
“He looks so sad,” Harry commented, watching Niall wash his hands and head up the stairs. He knew which bedroom he would go to, the same one he always slept in during his many visits over the years, and Harry’s heart ached watching him go. “Tomorrow,” he said with certainty, turning to look at Louis once Niall had disappeared from view. “I have to talk to him tomorrow.”    
  
Louis nodded. “We’ll keep trying for as long as it takes,” he promised.

\-----

Ghosts, as it turned out, didn’t need to sleep. Harry already knew that from a decade of living with Louis, but it was another thing altogether to experience it. 

“What are we supposed to do all night?” Harry whined. Niall was already asleep, the rest of the house dark and quiet, and Harry was bored.

“We can watch TV, or keep working on siphoning energy,” Louis offered. “We can do anything we want, really, so long as it’s not eating, or sleeping, or leaving the property.”

Harry laughed. “Damn, all my favourite things,” he said, leaning in to give Louis a kiss. “Let’s watch a movie. As long as no one canceled my Netflix subscription, it should be paid up for a bit longer.”   


They cuddled up on the couch, so different from the first time they had watched a film together. It was so wonderful relaxing into Louis’ arms, being able to pillow his head on Louis’ solid chest, that Harry couldn’t even recall what movie they chose. What he did know was that if there was a Heaven, it couldn’t possibly compare to the paradise he found on that worn sofa in the comfort of Louis’ embrace.   


\-----

Niall woke up disoriented. For a second he couldn’t remember where he was, but then the familiar décor of his favourite guest room at Harry’s came into focus. It was easy to pretend for a moment that he was just there for a visit, like perhaps he was in town to celebrate Harry’s birthday. But he wasn’t, was he? Niall had spent what should have been Harry’s birthday making travel arrangements for Harry’s funeral—and thank goodness the two hadn’t been on the same day. It had been hard enough for Anne, Harry’s mum, that the dates were as close together as they were. It had been hard on all of them.   


Niall drug himself from the bed with a sigh. He had a lot of work to do yet, and an even bigger decision to make. He mulled it over as he made himself a cup of tea and dug through the cupboards for something to eat. If he was going to be here much longer, he would definitely have to go into town and get groceries. That, or live off of Harry’s granola bars and canned vegetables that hadn’t yet expired. 

He sat down at the breakfast bar, granola bar in one hand an a cup of tea in the other, and allowed himself to ponder his situation. Harry left him the house for a reason, Niall knew that. There was a good chance that Louis was still there, and it was very like Harry to worry about the fate of the ghost even after his own passing. There had been nothing in the will forbidding Niall from selling the house, or even tearing it down if he felt the urge, but he wanted to do right by Harry.   


He had to do right by his family too, though. When Niall told Alaina that he’d inherited a mansion, she promised to support him no matter what he chose to do. But could he really move his family to such a small village? Could he pull his daughter from her primary school just to live in a haunted house?   


“Some help would be really nice about now,” Niall mumbled up at the ceiling. There was no answer, just as expected, so he picked up his mobile and called someone who could actually help him.   


Alaina picked up on the second ring. “Hey, babe,” she said cheerfully. “How’s it going?”   


Niall smiled, feeling better just for hearing his wife’s voice. “It’s hard,” he admitted. “I keep expecting him to be waiting for me in the other room.”   


“No sign of him, then?” Alaina had accepted Niall’s history as a ghost hunter with ease, not something he had experienced with many of his girlfriends in the past. He hadn’t ever told her about Louis, though—hunting ghosts was one thing; his best mate falling in love with one was different entirely.   


“Afraid not,” Niall sighed, getting up to take his empty teacup to the sink. “I just don’t know what to do.”   


“What feels right, love?” Alaina asked. “Which would you regret more, selling the place or moving?”   


“It just doesn’t seem—”   


“Fair, I know,” Alaina interrupted. “It isn’t fair that your friend died so young either, is it? I told you, Charli and I will be happy wherever you want to be, even if it is in a creepy old mansion.”   


Niall chuckled. “Hey, you said it was beautiful in the photos.”   


“Beautifully creepy,” Alaina allowed. “We’ll manage, love. You just say the word and we’ll start packing.”   


“I don’t deserve you,” Niall said, wiping at his eyes.    


“Probably not, but you’ve got me,” Alaina agreed with a giggle. “Now, I have to get a certain little terror off to school, she’s just finished throwing a tantrum because I won’t let her wear her pyjamas.”   


“Good luck with that,” Niall laughed, having witnessed that particular argument before and not at all envious of his wife. “Give Charli my love. I’ll call later and wish her goodnight.”   


“She’d like that. Love you, babe.” Alaina made a kissing sound into the phone. “And don’t stress. Bye, bye, bye.”   


Niall smiled down at his mobile as the call disconnected. His wallpaper was a photo from Christmas, Alaina and Charli bundled up and posing next to their snowman in the front yard. They were both pink-cheeked and grinning, some of Charli’s bright red hair peeking out from beneath her stocking cap.    


Christmas felt so far away, even in a house still half-decorated. The last time Niall had visited had been the end of November, and Harry had just been dragging all the decorations out of storage.   


_ “Come on, Niall,” Harry begged. “Where’s your Christmas spirit?” _ _  
_

_ “In December, where it belongs,” Niall replied, but even after all these years he couldn’t resist a pouting Harry. He took the worn cardboard box marked ‘ornaments’ and carried it into the parlour. Harry had gotten an artificial tree a few years before, and the thing seemed to gain more and more character as it collected more tinsel and lost more fake needles. _ _  
_

_ “Mind if I help?”  _ _  
_

_ Niall nearly dropped the box at the sudden appearance of Louis, smiling innocently like he hadn’t just caused Niall to nearly shit himself. “Lou, man, I’m never going to get used to you popping up out of nowhere.” _ _  
_

_ Louis just smiled, unbothered by Niall’s panic. “Sorry. Harry doesn’t even notice anymore.” _ _  
_

_ “Yeah, well, you and I both know your boyfriend’s weird.” He pulled out two stockings, one for Harry and one for Louis, and held them out to the ghost. “Here, why don’t you hang these and I’ll try to untangle the lights.” _ _  
_

_ Soon the tree had lights and garland, and Niall and Louis started adding ornaments. Niall had to stop and watch Louis as he carefully selected each one, concentrating hard as he lifted it to the tree as if he might drop it at any moment. “Is it hard?” Niall asked. “Picking things up?” _ _  
_

_ “It isn’t easy,” Louis replied, hanging a smiling pair of snowmen on the tree. They had Harry and Louis’ names and a year painted along the bottom, Niall’s gift to them the first Christmas Harry spent in the house. “It takes a lot of energy, and I can’t do it for very long.” _ _  
_

_ Soon enough Louis grew even more transparent and opted to watch instead, explaining he was afraid of breaking anything should he keep at it. Niall took over adding the ornaments, holding up each one to ask Louis where it should go. The ghost didn’t say anything about it, but judging by the smile on his face he was happy to be treated like a living person. _ _  
_

_ “Oh, look at you two!” Harry exclaimed, stepping into the parlour with a Santa hat perched on his curls, shorter than Niall had seen them in a long time. “That looks beautiful.” He grinned at Niall first, his expression turning into something softer as he looked at Louis. _ _  
_

_ It never failed to amaze Niall how much the two of them cared for one another. They had been making their relationship work for a decade, and Niall was truly in awe of how strong their love must be to overcome death. “You’re just in time for the star, Haz,” Niall said softly, handing the tree topper to his best friend. _   


Niall shook his head to escape the memory. He still wasn’t ready to face the decorations, not yet, so he headed upstairs to the room Harry had converted into an office. On his way he passed by the lounge, and had to do a double take when he glanced into the room.   


The television was on.   


Niall stepped inside, peering around the seemingly empty room. “Louis? Harry?” he called cautiously, too afraid to get his hopes up. “Is someone here?” He crossed to the TV, turning it off and glancing at the couch. For a moment he swore he saw a flicker of movement, that the room felt slightly colder, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.   


“Wishful thinking,” Niall muttered to himself. He cast one last longing glance around the room before continuing down the hall to Harry’s office.    


\-----

Perhaps ghosts didn’t need to sleep, but Harry still felt himself relaxing deeply as he cuddled into Louis’ side—so much so that he didn’t even notice that the film had ended until Niall’s voice cut through the morning silence.     


“Louis? Harry?”   


Harry sat upright. It was the first time Niall had said his name since his arrival, and Harry desperately wished he could respond. He watched as Niall turned off the television before looking hopefully around the room. Niall’s gaze landed on Harry, and for an instant he felt like Niall was looking right at him. Harry stood up, reaching for his friend, only to have Niall pass right through him on his way back into the hall.   


“Are you sure you don’t want me to talk to him?” Louis asked. He was watching Harry from his place on the couch, still curled up against one arm, his eyes pulled downward by the weight of his frown.   


Harry growled in frustration. He was being stupid; he should just let Louis tell Niall that he was all right. He knew Niall, though, and just hearing Louis say it would never be enough. He wanted to talk to his friend face to face, and that was what he was going to do.   


“I need to do it myself,” Harry decided. He stalked over to the battery charger again, pressing his hand to it. “I can do this.”   


Harry kept trying, and trying, and trying. He couldn’t seem to get the hang of feeling the current inside the batteries, to draw that current into his own body. Louis showed him again, but it still wouldn’t work. Harry couldn’t even cry in frustration, his eyes no longer capable of producing tears, so he settled for sagging against the wall with his hands balled into fists at his sides.   


“Hey,” Louis said, smoothing his hands down the tense lines of Harry’s arms. “It’s okay, love. You’re doing so well.”   


Harry lifted his chin to meet Louis’ worried blue eyes. “I just… I don’t feel like I exist anymore,” he confessed sadly. “My body is gone and my things are being packed away and my best friend just walked straight through me.”   


“Oh, Harry,” Louis said, pulling Harry into his arms. “You exist, I promise. You’re as real as the wind; perhaps you can’t be seen right now, but you can make your presence felt.”   


Harry buried his face into Louis’ neck. “I feel like a light breeze,” he mumbled.   


“A gale waiting to happen,” Louis insisted, kissing Harry’s temple. “Come on, I want to show you something.”   


Harry pulled back far enough to look at Louis. “What is it?”   


“I’m going to show you how real you are.”

Harry allowed Louis to lead him into the master bedroom. It was a pale grey now, and Harry’s king size bed made the space look more modern than Ida Payne’s four-poster ever did. It was quite possibly his favourite room in the house, the room where he kept the photos he had of Louis from the old album Liam had found among his aunt’s belongings. It was the one place where he always felt like he and Louis had a normal relationship, curled up on their own sides of the bed or learning how to make one another feel good. Soon, though, someone else would move into the house—be it Niall or a stranger—and the photos would be packed away, the bed dismantled and replaced. This room would be the hardest to lose, Harry thought sadly as Louis sat them down on the bed. It was still unmade from Harry’s last morning alive, an empty water glass on the nightstand next to a bookmarked paperback that he’d only just started reading.   


“How is this supposed to help?” Harry asked glumly, turning to face Louis instead of the sad collection of objects on his bedside table.   


Louis answered by kissing him.   


It was deeper than any kiss they’d shared so far, their arms wrapping around one another as they pressed their mouths as close as possible. Harry boldly licked at Louis’ lips, and Louis granted him entrance without hesitation. It didn’t feel quite like kissing had when Harry was alive; there was no taste, no wetness, but Harry had been imagining Louis’ taste for ages and now was no exception.    


“I want to try something,” Louis gasped, dragging his mouth down the side of Harry’s neck, alternating licks and kisses and little bites. “Do you trust me?”   


Harry tilted his neck for Louis offering it to him. “With my life,” he replied cheekily.   


Louis laughed, burying his face in Harry’s neck. “You’re incorrigible. Here,” he said, taking one of Harry’s hands in each of his and pressing their palms together. “I don’t think we can be physical in the same way we were when you were alive, nor do I think our bodies are capable of that kind of physicality as we are now.”

Harry frowned down at his groin. True, kissing and touching Louis made him feel on fire everywhere else, but there was no reaction at all from that area. “Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.”   


“And this may not work,” Louis cautioned him. “But I have an idea, if you’re willing to try it.”   


“I’ll try anything with you,” Harry said, leaning forward to give Louis a brief kiss on the lips. “What do I need to do?”   


Louis grinned excitedly. “Okay, well, do you remember how it felt when I helped you pick up the teacup?” Harry did; it was like feeling whole, like for that instant he and Louis were the same being. “I want to do that, but completely.”   


“Become part of each other,” Harry said, swallowing hard. “Yeah, Lou, let’s try it.”

They started slow, each pressing his palms forward until the barrier between them disappeared. The first feeling of their energies mingling together had Harry gasping, and he couldn’t help surging forward to cover Louis’ mouth with his own.   


Louis was trembling, ecstatic, and Harry could feel how much Louis wanted this, wanted to share the same space. Soon they were melting entirely together, one single being made of swirling silver light, and Harry was certain that, above all else, this was paradise.   


_ Louis, I love you. _ Harry couldn’t speak the words, but he knew Louis felt them because he could feel Louis responding in kind, murmurs of love and adoration as two beings temporarily occupied the same distinct point in the universe. It was the closest Harry had ever felt to anyone in his entire life, and of course it should happen after it ended.

_ Let go, love,  _ he could feel Louis say.  _ Let go with me. _

So Harry let himself go. He stopped being Harry, a unique being, and allowed himself to truly become one with Louis. Suddenly it was as if he could see all of Louis’ memories laid bare for him, all the laughs and smiles, the tears and the pain. He could feel the weariness of Louis’ soul hanging around for long past his time, of missing his sisters, but also the new life that had been breathed into him—both of them, really—upon meeting Harry. It was heartache and bliss that spanned two lifetimes, a century apart, and Harry felt like he was getting a glimpse into the fabric of the universe itself, at all the glittering threads that weave the world together. It was the richest tapestry Harry had ever seen, and it wrapped itself around the being that was HarryandLouis until it was almost too much to bear, too much to  _ feel,  _ and Harry could sensel his very being crying out with overstimulation.

He opened his eyes with a gasp. He was sitting on the bed, hands clasped in Louis’, but he could still feel Louis connected to him. It was as if, in creating that mystic tapestry, someone had knit their threads together and now there was no coming undone.

Louis was wide-eyed and panting, chest rising and falling uselessly with phantom breaths. “Did you feel that?” he asked in a small voice.

Harry nodded, giving Louis’ palm a squeeze. Louis felt even more solid now, more real. “I could see your entire life,” he said, awed.

“Me too,” Louis agreed. “I had no idea what was going to happen, but… Harry, I never could have imagined something like that.”

Harry threw his arms around Louis, pulling him close and burying his face into his neck. “Thank you. I love you so much. Thank you.”

“Thank you for staying,” Louis whispered back, clinging tightly to Harry. “Still feel like you don’t exist?”

Harry shook his head, and he knew he’d be crying if he had the capability. “No, actually, I feel more alive than I ever have.” He kissed Louis on the cheek as he pulled away. “In fact, I think there’s someone I need to go and tell.” 

Harry jumped off the bed, heading straight for the battery charger in the corner identical to the one in the lounge. He placed his hand on it, eyes fixed on the solid green light, and concentrated as hard as he could. He remembered the way it felt drawing Louis inside of him, imagined those silver swirls of energy seeping from the batteries and into his hand. He could feel Louis move behind him, place an encouraging hand on his shoulder, and Harry imagined the silver mist emanating from that point of contact as well.

The light on the charger flickered, then went amber.

“You’ve got it!” Louis whooped, hugging Harry from behind. “That’s it, love, just keep doing it!”

Harry grinned, placing his other hand alongside the first and picturing the energy flowing into both of his open palms. “What do I do next?” he asked excitedly, looking over his shoulder at Louis.

Louis beamed at him, pride with a hint of mischief, and took hold of Harry’s arm. “Next, we go find Niall.”

Niall had moved on from the office and was up in the tower room that Louis’ ghost had been so fond of during their investigation. It was a reading nook now, the walls lined with bookshelves, and a pair of overstuffed armchairs stood in the middle of the room facing the windows. Niall was sat in one of the chairs with a book of Harry’s open in his lap. Harry recognised it immediately as the one he had written after  _ InSpectre Styles  _ ended, the truth about his time on the show and the reason he chose to stop filming. Well, part of the truth—he talked about how he came to the realisation that exploiting the dead for money was wrong, but he didn’t mention that it was partly due to falling in love with a ghost.

Harry stood directly in front of Niall, making sure he wouldn’t be missed when he became visible. He looked over to Louis for instruction. “What do I do next?”

“Focus all of that energy on your skin,” Louis explained. “Remember how it looked and felt, the colour and the texture. Project that energy outward like an armour. If you do it right, he should be able to see you.”

Harry nodded, looking down at his body in determination. He could feel the current inside of him moving in swirls and eddies, waiting to be released like water through the floodgates of a dam. He did what Louis said, focusing all of that energy outward, imagining it coating him in layers until he was no longer invisible. He gasped when first his fingers became less transparent, then his hands, a warmth growing and spreading as it covered his body. “Is it working?”

“I’ll say,” Louis said, grinning at Harry proudly. “Go on, try to talk to him.”

Harry looked down at his friend, still seemingly engrossed in the book. “Niall,” Harry called. His voice didn’t sound any different to him, and Niall didn’t stir. “Niall, it’s Harry.” Still nothing. Harry looked at Louis pitifully. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Louis said with a frown, coming to stand next to Harry and wrapping an arm around his waist. Harry could already feel the great strain his attempt had taken, could feel the energy waning until it depleted all together. “Maybe he isn’t ready to see you. He has to be open to the possibility.”

“It’s Niall,” Harry argued helplessly. “He was hunting ghosts by my side for years. If anyone is open to it, trust me, he is.”

“When they were nameless spirits, sure,” Louis agreed. “But maybe he isn’t ready to see his best friend as one.”

Harry’s heart sank. Louis was right; if Niall wasn’t ready to see him, then no amount of energy in the world would make him. He wanted to scream in frustration, to cry, to lose himself inside of Louis once more until he forgot how miserable he felt, when suddenly Niall gave a ferocious snore.

Louis and Harry locked eyes. “He’s asleep!” Harry said, laughing in surprise. “That’s why he didn’t notice me.”

“We have to wake him up,” Louis said, giggling along with him.

“How are we supposed to do that?”

Louis grabbed Harry’s wrist. “Come on, I have an idea.” He led them down the stairs and through to the parlour. Across the mantle, where once Ida Payne had displayed a collection of ugly vases, Harry had an assortment of knickknacks. On both ends was a large, silver candlestick, and between them were souvenirs from the various haunted locations Harry and Niall had visited on the show.

“Louis, what are you doing?” Harry asked uncertainly, watching Louis approach the fireplace.

“We need a loud noise,” Louis explained. He pointed to the mantle. “Are you going to forgive me if any of this gets broken?”

Harry bit his lip. On the one hand, each of those items were special to him, a memory he treasured. On the other, his show was still on Netflix and it wasn’t as if he needed any of those things now. What he needed was to talk to Niall. “Go ahead,” he decided.

Louis hesitated a moment, giving Harry a chance to change his mind, and then sent the whole lot cascading to the floor. There was the stein Harry got at the haunted pub in Germany, and the bell from a hotel in Ireland. There were bricks from an asylum in Wales and a copper spittoon from a ghost town in Arizona. It all hit the ground with an unholy noise, a cacophony of breaking glass and clanging metal.

Right on cue, they could hear the sound of feet on the floorboards overhead, the rhythmic pounding of someone running down wooden stairs. It was working perfectly, except— “Shit, Louis, I don’t have enough strength to make myself visible right now,” Harry cursed, all his energy spent on that first attempt. He didn’t think he could try again so soon, no matter how badly he wanted to. “This isn’t going to work.”

Louis looked around the room, eyes landing on something near the doorway. He smiled at Louis, face lit with the boyish mischief that Harry had first fallen in love with. “Yes, I think it is.”

\-----

Niall woke with a start, heart hammering in his chest. The crash echoed up the stairs, and the first thought that came to mind was that someone was robbing the house, perhaps looking for an easy target having heard the owner had passed away. He stood up slowly, moving the book off his lap and creeping out into the hallway. There were no further sounds, nothing that indicated someone else was in the house, but Niall knew better than to pass anything off as being ‘just a noise.’

As quietly as he was able, Niall eased his way down the massive staircase. He didn’t have a weapon, but maybe there was something he could grab along the way. He could sneak into the kitchen, perhaps, and grab a knife, but what if that was where the intruder was?

Niall never made it to the kitchen, however. As soon as he reached the foot of the stairs, peering around cautiously, he caught sight of the great mess strewn over the carpeting in the parlour. That must have been the source of the noise, he reasoned, allowing himself to breathe as he went in to investigate. The mantle was empty aside from the pair of stockings still hanging from it, all the items now in a pile of debris on the floor. Something—or someone—must have upset them somehow. Niall cast a glance around the room before squatting down next to the pile, reaching carefully for an item lying amongst the broken glass. It was an antique bell from the front desk of an old hotel they had visited for one of the first episodes of  _ InSpectre Styles _ , and it chimed softly when Niall picked it up. Niall smiled at the bell, turning it in his hand as he remembered that night in Ireland, spending a dark night in a creepy hotel with his best friend in the entire world, until a noise behind him made his blood run cold.

The low hiss of static hummed from hallway, and Niall would recognise that sound anywhere. It was the Spirit Box, the one he knew was stored in his duffel bag. The same duffel bag that he hadn’t touched since arriving in the house.

Niall turned slowly around, eyes wide with fear. He set the bell on the floor as quietly as possible and stood, mustering all his courage to investigate the source of the sound. Sure enough, his duffel bag was right where he left it by the stairs, but the zip was wide open and the Spirit Box had somehow powered on.

“Hello?” Niall croaked, voice thickened by panic. “Is someone there?” He approached the Spirit Box, picking it up and inspecting it. He turned a slow circle, looking for someone who might have turned the device on and then fled when it crackled to life. “I’ve already called the police,” Niall warned, despite having done no such thing.

“Liar,” the Spirit Box said.

Niall gaped down at it. “I’m sorry? Who is this?”

There was a stretch of static and then: “Ghosts. Two.”

“Two ghosts?” Niall asked, staring in amazement at the black box in his hand. He swallowed hard, afraid to get his hopes up. “Who am I speakin’ to?”

“Louis.”  _ Crackle.  _ “Harry.”

“Oh my god,” Niall exclaimed, nearly dropping the Spirit Box. Tears sprung to his eyes and he had to sit down on the steps before his knees buckled. “Haz, is that you? You’re here?”

There were a few torturous seconds without a reply. “Stayed. Together.”

Niall had been right; Harry’s spirit had chosen to stay with Louis after all. He hated the thought of his best friend trapped in this plane, unable to move on to whatever waited on the other side, but at least he wasn’t alone. It was fitting, in a way, that the great InSpectre Styles should wind up being a spectre himself.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Niall sobbed, clutching the Spirit Box to his chest as if it somehow represented his dead friend. “I should’ve been there for you. I should have come to visit more. I miss you so much.” There was no reply, and then the static abruptly cut out. Niall looked at the Spirit Box curiously. It had switched off, and refused to turn back on. Almost as if—

“The battery,” Niall realised, leaping to his feet. “You need more energy, of course ya do!” He grabbed the bag and dragged it into the parlour, rummaging through it and pulling out ghost hunting equipment that hadn’t seen the light of day in years. He pulled out everything he could find with a battery, every camera and voice recorder, and switched the lot on. The spare batteries and their chargers got plugged into the wall, along with the Spirit Box, and then all Niall could do was wait.

At first he thought he must be seeing things, because the air in front of him seemed to waver, but then a figure slowly started to take shape. It was Harry, there was no doubt about it, though a younger version of him. His hair was long again, his face free of the lines that had started to creep in with age, and he was smiling at Niall like it was ten years ago and they had just hit the jackpot of creepy old houses to investigate.

“Harry,” Niall whispered, hardly able to believe his eyes. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

“It’s me,” Harry promised. “Louis’ here too.” At the mention of his name, Louis appeared next to Harry, looking exactly the same as Niall remembered. Louis smiled at Niall, giving a little wave before reaching over and taking Harry’s hand.

Niall swiped at his eyes, smearing wetness down his cheeks. “You two can finally be together properly, eh?” Niall asked.

“We can,” Harry confirmed. “Please don’t worry about me, Ni. I’m fine.” He smiled at Louis, squeezing his hand.  _ “We’re  _ fine. I’m just sorry that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

“Yeah, how dare you not warn us your clumsy arse was going to fall off a ladder,” Niall joked, though his voice shook with the effort of holding back more tears. “There’s a reason we always tried to keep your feet on the ground, Styles.”

Harry laughed, and for a moment it was like old times, the two of them joking around and teasing one another. “I know, entirely my fault,” Harry admitted. “I hope you gave me a nice funeral, you prick.”

Niall told him all about it, how after Harry never answered any calls from his family trying to plan a birthday visit, they had someone go to the house to check on him. He told him about the funeral, how there were more people there than Niall could count and that each one wanted the chance to share a story about Harry. “They even aired a marathon of the show,” Niall told him. “Every single episode, some unaired stuff as well.” Niall didn’t tell him that he had recorded the entirety of it, glad he had the footage to look back on when he needed to see that dimpled smile or those teasing green eyes.

“That’s great,” Harry said, a sad smile on his face. “And my family? How are they holding up?”

Niall wrung his hands together. He knew this question was coming, but it didn’t make the answer any easier to deliver. “They miss you, Harry. We all do. It’s like the fucking sun stopped rising when you died, yanno?” He exhaled a shuddery breath. “But it will get better. I think your mum was glad to not have to come here and go through your things, though she’d never admit it.” It wasn’t exactly easy for Niall, either, but he’d do it before making Anne have to any day of the week.

Harry frowned, eyes on the ground, and Louis put a comforting arm around his shoulders. “Love, didn’t you want to talk to Niall about the house?” he prompted.

“Yeah, right,” Harry said. He lifted his head, forcing his mouth into a smile. “I left the house to you for a reason, Niall. I knew you’d think of Louis, and me if it came to it, but you also have to think of yourself. I had to talk to you because I want you to know that it’s entirely your decision, and I will be okay no matter what happens.”

“I don’t know what to do. This is your house,” Niall replied helplessly. “I can’t sell it, because someone might come in and wreck it and you’ll have to watch. And I can’t move in, because, well, it’s your house.”

“It’s  _ your _ house,” Harry corrected gently. He was already starting to fade, and he looked down at his hands sadly as they grew more and more transparent. “I can’t hold this much longer. Please, do whatever makes you happy. I’ll be here no matter what.” He smiled, reaching out for Niall. “I love you, Ni. This isn’t goodbye.” Then he and Louis were gone, and Niall was left stretching an arm out for empty air.

Suddenly he knew what he had to do. Harry was right, this was his house now, and no one in the world knew how special it was apart from him. He looked around the room, at the love and history written into the walls, and frankly couldn’t believe he hadn’t made his decision sooner. He smiled, hoping Harry could see it, and dug into his pocket for his mobile. He had a very important phone call to make.

\-----

The summer sun shone down bright and hot as the Horan family pulled into the circular drive. The trees around the property were green, the lawn freshly mowed, and the front door had a new coat of paint on it. “This is it,” Niall announced, turning off the car and stepping outside.

“This is gorgeous,” Alaina gushed, helping Charli out of the backseat. “I can’t believe Harry lived here alone all those years.”

“Yeah,” Niall agreed hollowly. He swept his daughter up, holding her tight with one arm and retrieving the cat carrier from the backseat with the other. “Come on, little miss. Let’s go see our new home.”

Charli wasn’t sure she liked the house. It was big and scary, and she felt as if she might get swallowed up by it. She hid her face in her dad’s neck, not wanting to look at it any longer.

“Charli, look,” her mum said once they were inside, rubbing Charli’s back. “Look at the fireplace! Won’t that be lovely come winter?”

Reluctantly lifting her head, Charli looked at where her mum was pointing. There was indeed a fireplace in the next room, a set of squashy chairs placed in front of it. She was not impressed.

Niall kissed her on the cheek before setting her down. “Why don’t you go look at the bedrooms, love? You can pick one out for you and Fluffy.” He bent down and opened the cat carrier, chuckling as a black and white blur darted out of it the second the door swung open.

“Fluffy!” Charli called, chasing after the cat. She hurried off in the direction he had gone, looking under every piece of furniture as she went. The house was less scary on the inside, she supposed, with large windows and fresh paint on the walls, but she wasn’t sure she could like a place if Fluffy didn’t either.

When there was no sight of her pet on the ground floor, Charli made her way up the stairs. They led to a long hallway full of doors, all of them open. She hesitated before turning right, deciding to go from one end to the other. Perhaps she could find the perfect bedroom and her cat at the same time.

Her search started out poorly. The first room was tiny, and had small windows, and there wasn’t enough room on the floor for her toys. The second room was bigger, but there was a scary tree right outside the window that tapped against the glass when the wind blew.

The third room was locked.

Charli frowned, jiggling the door handle. Every other room stood wide open; why not this one? She got to her hands and knees, peering under the door to see what was on the other side.

“What are you looking for?”

Charli startled at the sound of the voice, sitting up on her knees to look at the man kneeling next to her. He was dressed strangely, but he was smiling. Charli decided he had a kind smile, and gave one in return. “I’m looking for a bedroom,” she told him.

The man looked at the closed door and back at Charli. “Well, this one’s taken, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “I’m Louis. What’s your name?”

“Charli.”

“That’s a very pretty name,” Louis commented.

Charli wrinkled her nose. “It’s short for Charlotte. I don’t like being called Charlotte.”

Louis laughed. “You know, I have a sister called Charlotte, and she always went by a nickname as well.

“What did you call her?” Charli asked curiously.

“Lottie,” Louis answered with a fond smile. “She liked to be called Lottie.”

“Do you know my Uncle Harry?” Charli asked, tilting her head and examining the stranger before her. “He told me his friend had a sister called Lottie, and you have a sister called Lottie.”

“I know your Uncle Harry quite well,” Louis replied. “Would you like to say hello?”

Charli’s face fell. “I can’t. Mum says Uncle Harry is gone.”

Louis’ smile never waned. “Your mum isn’t wrong, but sometimes people aren’t really gone when we think they are,” he explained. “In fact, I think your Uncle Harry might be playing with your cat as we speak.”

Charli followed Louis to the other end of the hallway where a large bedroom was waiting. It was painted a pale purple, Charli’s favourite colour, and had large windows covered with lacy white curtains. There was a bed against the wall opposite the door, and sat upon it was—

“Uncle Harry!” Charli cried, flinging herself into the room. She climbed onto the bed next to him, disrupting Fluffy in the process. “Uncle Harry, I missed you,” she said accusingly.

Harry gave a placating smile, turning his attention from the cat to his owner. “I’m sorry, darling, I missed you too. But now we’ll get to see each other all the time,” he told her.

She looked at him with surprised blue eyes. “We will? Do you live here too?”

“I do,” Harry confirmed. “Your Uncle Louis and I have lived here for a long time now.” The two shared a smile.

Charli looked between them. “Are you ghosts? Like the ones you and Daddy used to look for?”

“We are,” Harry said. “Does that frighten you?”

She thought about it. “No,” she said. “If Fluffy isn’t scared, then I’m not either.” She flopped back on the bed, looking around the room. “Can this be my bedroom?”

“I’m sure it can,” Louis answered. “This was my sister Lottie’s bedroom once upon a time. I’m sure she’d love for you to have it now.”

“Okay,” Charli said simply. She pointed to the wall with three large windows. “I’m going to put my dollhouse over there. Will you play with me?”

“We’d love to,” Harry told her. “We have to go right now, but we’ll be back to see you soon, all right? Be a good girl for your mum and dad.”

Charli nodded solemnly. “Okay, Uncle Harry,” she said, and then she and Fluffy were alone in the room.

“Charli?” Niall called, poking his head through the doorway. His face lit up when he saw his daughter. “Hey, love, who were you talking you?”

She hopped down from the bed. “Uncle Harry and Uncle Louis,” she announced. “They helped me pick a bedroom. Can we bring my dollhouse in now?” She took her father’s hand and tugged him out into the hallway.

Niall chuckled in disbelief, looking around the empty room. “Sure, love. Let’s go get your dollhouse.” He let Charli lead the way to the staircase, pausing only long enough to whisper a quiet ‘thank you’ to the locked door as they passed.

The bedroom once belonging to Harry remained locked as long as the Horan family owned the house, but if someone were to go inside it would look exactly the way it had the day Harry Styles passed away. If anyone ever asked, they explained it was their way of honouring Harry’s memory and all the love he poured into the old mansion. Truthfully, though, it was because that room’s occupants still resided there, even if Niall and his daughter were the only ones who knew it. The bed would never get made and the paperback on the nightstand would never get finished, but Harry and Louis still had a place to call home and a family to share it with. Harry always thought he was lucky in life, but, so far, it turned out his death was even more beautiful.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and Happy Halloween! There is a rebloggable Tumblr post [here](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/166973986176/title-were-not-who-we-used-to-be-author), and as always I’d love for you to come say hello! Kudos/comments/reblogs are always appreciated!


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